


Love is a Verb

by korvidae



Series: Fire Siblings Week 2020 [6]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bush-Era Homophobia, F/F, F/M, Fire Siblings Week 2020, Gen, House Party, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, New Jersey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korvidae/pseuds/korvidae
Summary: Nothing got Zuko panicked like the thought of Azula in trouble—or Azulacausingtrouble.Or: The “ATLA kids as Jersey teens who throw a house party, have emotional heart-to-hearts, and avoid hitting deer while driving at night, circa late 2007” AU that nobody asked for. (Fire Siblings Week 2020 Day 6: Modern AU)
Relationships: Azula & Zuko (Avatar), Azula/Ty Lee (Avatar), Mai/Zuko (Avatar)
Series: Fire Siblings Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1978597
Comments: 20
Kudos: 89





	Love is a Verb

**Author's Note:**

> Please accept this incredibly self-indulgent nostalgia-trip of an AU—playlist included!

Katara’s voice played inside Zuko’s head on a loop.

_“Zuko, come get your sister NOW.”_

Never before had he moved so quickly—running first into his bedroom to grab a hoodie, the living room for his car keys, skidding into his Vans as he darted out the door, down three flights of stairs, and across the parking lot into his car—all in 90 seconds.

How he did all this without breaking anything was honestly a miracle.

The digital clock in his GS read 1:02. He had been driving already for 30 minutes and didn’t even notice. Nothing quite got Zuko panicked and moving like the thought of Azula in trouble—or Azula _causing_ trouble.

Zuko pulled off the highway and onto a narrow, forested road that felt as though it hadn’t been resurfaced since the late 1970s. There were no streetlights, and he tensed as he flicked on his brights. He was most certainly _not_ in the mood to be murdered by deer tonight.

After a few torturous minutes, Zuko came to the driveway, a long, dirt road that snaked through the trees for nearly half a mile. Zuko drove past a large Victorian house and deeper into the woods. He heard muffled music before seeing the house: a crooked two-story that looked like it came out of a Brothers Grimm fairytale. Jet and his seven housemates lived there, and they were throwing a party in honor of the new academic year. About a dozen vehicles were parked haphazardly in its front and side yard.

Even in the dark, Zuko recognized most of the cars. Mai’s Jetta looked perfect as always, backed into a spot for easy departure. Sokka’s ancient Town & Country sat beside Suki’s Tacoma. Aang’s rimless Corsica was just a hair too close to the side of the house for Zuko’s liking (that boy was a bit chaotic behind the wheel). Zuko’s favorite, though, was Jet’s ride, a moldering old work-van he’d gotten for a song at a highway tow-away auction only to discover the brakes had been cut. This van had been everywhere: the Poconos, Maine, Canada, tailgating at about 15 Eagle’s games, dozens of music festivals, camping all over the tri-state area, and to Florida and back, twice. Jet and his housemates had a habit of picking up random pieces of furniture off curbsides and yard sales and bolting them into the back. By now, four-fifths of a very retro living room set had been affixed to the rear. There was shag carpeting and everything.

The best thing about the van, though, were the bumper stickers. The back doors were simply _plastered_. Among the large selection were three different WXPN FM logos, a rainbow flag in the shape of the state of New Jersey, an assortment of Grateful Dead Dancing Bears in various colors and sizes, and a giant, faded “BUSH FOR EX-PRESIDENT 2004” smack dab in the middle.

He trudged up the squishy incline toward the house, fuzzy hardcore pulsing in the air, the damp grass squelching under his rubber soles. He heard a cat scurry away into the trees. Smellerbee and Longshot were smoking on the porch; they nodded at Zuko in greeting.

“You don’t have to panic or anything,” Smellerbee announced, taking a drag of her cigarette. “She’s calmed down a lot. She’s out-back with Aang.”

Zuko’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“She is _really_ drunk, though,” Longshot amended in his characteristically gentle voice. Zuko nodded in acknowledgment and walked through the door.

The kitchen was painfully bright. The fluorescent light bounced aggressively off the all-white everything—the kitchen was original to the house and would possess a very charming, grandma-like vibe, if not for the piles of beer cans, stacks of greasy pizza boxes, and Rasta flag-colored bong by the sink. Muddy shoe prints coated the tile floor. Katara and Ty Lee were huddled in the corner by an ancient refrigerator emblazoned proudly with PHILCO on the door. The girls were speaking in the hushed, agitated cadence of people who were recounting recent wrongs.

Zuko knew at once they had been involved with Azula somehow.

“Hey,” he nodded in greeting as he walked toward them. “What happened?” He was addressing Katara.

“No,” Ty Lee said, looking at the floor. “It’s my fault. Katara was just trying to help.” A fat tear rolled down her cheek.

“Do you want me to tell him?” Katara asked gently. Ty Lee nodded. Zuko realized that while Katara was stone-cold sober, Ty Lee was anything but.

Katara steadied herself and leaned forward, speaking as quietly as she could while still ensuring her voice would carry over the sounds of a dying house party.

“Azula asked her out again,” Katara said quickly as if she were ripping off a Band-Aid. Zuko cringed. Ty Lee was still looking at the floor, a beer bottle pressed to her cheek as more chubby tears ran down her face.

“I’m sorry,” Zuko whispered.

Ty Lee wiped her face with her sleeve and took a shaky breath. “It’s not that I don’t _want_ to, you know,” hardly any sound was coming out of her mouth. She gulped in another breath. “I _really like_ Azula, but if my parents found out…” a tiny sob escaped her. “I told her, ‘Give me a year. Let’s graduate, and I’ll get a place, and we won’t have to…have to hide anymore.’” Her shoulders shook as she began sobbing in earnest now. Katara wrapped an arm around her and stroked her shoulder.

“Azula didn’t take it well. She stormed off into the woods; Sokka went after her and brought her back. We were all worried. Then she got really drunk, really fast,” Katara made a face then, and Zuko assumed she was thinking of whoever was responsible for supplying the alcohol (probably Jet). “That’s when I called you.”

“What else did she do?” Zuko knew this couldn’t be the whole of it.

“She tried to pick a fight with me when I wouldn’t tell her where Ty was.” Katara didn’t sound angry; she said this matter-of-factly. “Don’t worry, she was too plastered to land a punch. Aang grabbed her pretty quickly anyway. He’s probably still out there with her.”

Zuko let out a deep exhale.

“Thank _fuck_ for Aang.”

Katara laughed a little at that. Ty Lee wasn’t crying anymore; she had her arms wrapped around herself despondently.

“‘Tara’s gonna take me home,” her voice was raspy. “Tell ‘Zula she can call me tomorrow, OK? If she wants.”

“OK,” Zuko responded sadly. He felt terrible for Ty Lee, but this was hardly the first time they’d been down this road.

As the girls left the kitchen to make their rounds to say goodbye, Zuko decided, since nothing was actively on fire (well, nothing that wasn’t _supposed_ to be, anyway), he might as well say hi to everyone and see how they were doing. He pulled a beer out of the fridge and wandered into the rest of the house.

Mai and a few of Jet’s housemates (Pipsqueak and The Duke) were in the old dining room, a cramped, squat room off the kitchen where the house residents kept their assortment of reptiles and arachnids. (It was the warmest room of the house). A nicotine-stained painting of two hands pressed together with The Lord’s Prayer was placed on the far wall. It had probably sat there for the past 30 years. The warring glow of the orange incandescent bulbs in the brass chandelier, the heating lamps over the snakes, and the blacklight over the tarantula’s and scorpion made the room feel a little bit like a tiny Halloween funhouse.

Mai tilted her head back and gave Zuko her signature half-smile when he sat at the table’s empty chair.

“There he is,” her low voice causing a pleasant sensation along Zuko’s spine. “Was hoping you’d show up.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, actually.”

The Duke pushed a Styrofoam container of soggy but still-warm nachos toward Zuko in offering. The table was littered with scribbled-on graph paper (it looked like the aftermath of a _Dungeons & Dragons __session_ ), pencils, and an assortment of flavored rolling paper. Mai popped a nacho in her mouth and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Got stats at 8 and then work until 6:30,” Zuko explained, miserably. Everyone at the table made faces in sympathetic disgust at his plight. A class at 8 meant hitting the road no later than 7.

“Are we still good for tomorrow night?” Mai asked, reaching over and twining a hoodie string between two black-lacquered fingertips.

“Of course,” Zuko said quickly. They’d only been going out ( _officially_ ) for two months; it was far too early for him to disappoint her.

Mai narrowed her eyes at him.

“Come in before your shift; I’ll make you an espresso,” her voice was soft and unbearably sexy. She still had Zuko’s hoodie-string between her fingers, and he desperately wanted to kiss her.

“Hey man, glad you’re here. Looking for your sister?” Jet had said this. He was leaning in the doorway, a red Solo cup in his hand, still wearing his dirty coveralls from work.

He gestured to the rear of the house with his head. “She’s out-back.”

Mai let go of his string as he got up to follow Jet. “See you tomorrow,” she said.

“More like ‘see you in 10 hours’,” he threw her a cheeky smile over his shoulder and went through the doorway.

Jet led Zuko to an equally squat, damp-smelling sitting room at the back of the house. The floor was covered in flattened, putty-colored shag; half of the walls were dark wood paneling, the other half was covered in the wallpaper of a panoramic photograph of the Rocky Mountains. Four couches of various sizes were arranged in a U facing a massive silver cube of a television. Sokka and Toph were playing some late-90s fighting game—Toph could clearly navigate with sound alone, considering she was kicking Sokka’s ass in. They were both sitting on the floor, while Suki laid on the couch behind them with Longshot’s cat on her chest. They were lit only by the light from the screen.

“Hey, Zuko!” Suki called in sing-song, lifting her head and scaring the cat.

“His Hotness!?” Sokka swiveled his head in Zuko’s direction, allowing Toph to kill him once again. “Didn’t think you were coming, buddy!”

(If pressed to produce a description, Zuko would call Sokka and Suki’s state of being _lightly toasted_ ).

“He wasn’t,” Toph said, sipping from her own Solo cup. “He’s here for a _pick-up_.”

Zuko was amused at Suki and Sokka’s faces, first pausing in confusion, then shift to understanding as Toph’s meaning gradually dawned on them simultaneously.

“Yeah, I’m here to get my sister,” he admitted, carefully walking over Toph’s legs to get to the sliding door at the back of the room.

The house backed up onto a sprawling field, cleared save for the occasional 8-foot wheels of hay dotted in neat, diagonal rows. The long, thin expanse of farmland stretched on and on for acres, surrounded on three sides by the woods.

In the narrow backyard between the house and field, a dying fire burned in its dedicated pit. Aang was slouched in one of the many plastic lawn chairs, a half-gallon bottle of iced green tea between his knees. Azula sat two chairs over, clutching her own huge bottle (of water, in this case), looking into the fire miserably. Between them sat a plastic bag full of paper and empty chip bags; Aang must’ve felt the mission of sobering Azula up was important enough to warrant a Wawa run.

“Hey, Zuko,” Aang greeted him, sober as a judge. While Katara might’ve abstained from alcohol for practical reasons tonight, Aang was strictly straight-edge on principle, though he had no problem with his friends partaking around him. He reached over and pulled an empty chair over to him and gestured to it.

Azula kept her eyes on the fire.

Zuko flopped down into the chair. The sound of Jet lighting a cigarette from the patio could be heard behind them.

Zuko decided to give Azula a couple minutes to sort herself out. He bullshitted with Aang for a while; they talked about school (Zuko was now a sophomore in college, Aang was a junior in high school), shows they’ve been to, and work. Aang asked about Mai; Zuko asked about Katara. Aang was in the middle of recommending a state park he had taken Katara to on a date when Azula let out a loud sigh.

“You’re gonna take me home now.” It wasn’t a question.

“If you want me to,” Zuko replied softly.

Azula continued to stare into the flames. Aang slowly unfolded himself from the chair, stretching and groaning as his spine audibly popped.

“Well,” he said, placing his hand down on Zuko’s shoulder, “I think I oughta get Toph back home before her folks call the cops on me again. Talk to you later. Night, ‘Zula.”

“Night, Aang,” she mumbled.

Jet followed Aang back into the house, leaving the siblings alone.

Zuko and Azula sat for a while, just watching and listening to the fire and the sounds of distant crickets.

“Let’s go,” she said suddenly, sounding a little deflated. She stood and briefly swayed on her feet, then marched past Zuko into the house to retrieve her things, clutching her water to her chest.

* * *

It was almost 2:00 by the time they left.

The high humidity of early September created a thick mist that blanketed every open space for miles. The highway’s lights bounced off the moisture, creating the effect of a milky blue corona over the trees.

The air was still pleasantly warm, the chill of the approaching dawn a few hours away. Zuko pulled back onto the highway with the driver’s and passenger’s side windows open all the way, the breeze blowing into the cab and through his hair as he increased speed to merge onto the road. Still drunk, Azula leaned against the door, her face sticking out the window slightly, breathing the air in deeply. They let the air blow away the misery and anxiety of the past few hours as they shot down the empty expanse of the road in silence.

Eventually, Azula leaned back in her seat, hair thoroughly windblown, and rifled through her bag for cigarettes and a lighter. Zuko made a disapproving sound as she put the cigarette between her lips and lit it.

“Mom’ll be apoplectic if she sees you smoking,” he said flatly.

“Ooh, nice vocab,” Azula snarked back. “Don’t worry, she won’t. I’ll have quit by the time we see her again.”

Zuko didn’t doubt that. Mom moved to the shore with their step-dad and half-sister—the next time they’d likely see her would be Thanksgiving. Azula was still a little bitter about how quickly mom had remarried after dad was arrested; she felt as though she had been replaced.

She blew a plume of smoke out of the open window. “Could we just drive around for a bit? I’m not ready to go home yet.”

“I have to get gas.”

Azula fished around in her bag again, this time retrieving a crumpled twenty-dollar bill and placing it on the console between them.

“There. Get gas, then we’ll drive. I gotta pee, anyway.”

As if on cue, a familiar neon goose appeared ahead of them. Zuko pulled in, and while he asked the attendant for twenty dollars’ worth of premium, Azula quickly slipped out of the car and into the store. He fiddled with the radio while he waited: a commercial for a divorce lawyer, then a commercial for a Philly jewelry shop, then a commercial for a strip club, then a commercial for some drug trial offering money to poor people willing to play guinea pig for two weeks—goddamn, was _anyone_ playing music? Finally, he hit on a local rock station playing a block of Van Halen. He was hardly a fan of cock-rock, but it was better than ads.

One right after the other, the pump clicked complete, and Azula plopped back into her seat, thrusting a 16-ounce cup of hot coffee in Zuko’s direction.

“Aw, you didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, well, I did,” she cut him off, carefully prying off the lid of her own cup to warm her face in the steam. It was then, under the bright lights of the parking lot, that Zuko realized exactly how puffy and tired she looked.

Zuko pulled back onto the highway again, heading in the opposite direction of home.

“ _God_ ,” Azula whined, smacking the volume down, “you can really _hear_ the spandex.” She flicked the interior light on and began perusing the CDs Zuko kept in the visor organizer. She looked through them quietly for a minute until she suddenly _squealed_ with glee, causing Zuko to nearly have a heart attack.

“WHAT?!” he exclaimed as he nearly hit his head on the ceiling.

“Did _Mai_ make you this?” She held up a burnt CD with “ _For Z_ ” inscribed in Sharpie upon it in Mai’s distinctive script. About a dozen little, spiky black hearts surround the text.

“Uh, yeah,” he admitted bashfully.

Azula thrust the disc into the CD player without a second thought. A moment later, they were greeted by a tremulous guitar riff, horns, a jazzy baseline, and a woman’s voice:

_To pretend no one can find  
The fallacies of morning rose  
Forbidden fruit, hidden eyes,  
Courtesies that I despise in me  
Take a ride, take a shot now  
‘Cause nobody loves me  
It’s true  
Not like you do_ [1]  


“Oh my _GOD_ ,” Azula squealed again. “That is _so_ Mai!”

Zuko pulled into a jug-handle, crossing over the highway when the light turned green onto another wooded county road.

“You can’t deny she has good taste,” he murmured, still blushing slightly in the dark.

Bright lights were once again engaged as they rocketed down the tree-lined road. Zuko breathed deeply; the tingly, verdant smell of evergreens surrounded them as they drove. They ascended a hill, and as they descended, shallow bridges appeared over inky marshland, the scent shifting from the herbaceous sharpness of pine to the unplaceable funk of still freshwater. Their tires made smacking noises against the cement seams of the bridges. Azula, still a little tipsy, sipped her coffee and gently swayed to the music.

Growing up on the county line, Zuko and Azula were familiar with the various shortcuts from the suburbs and urban hubs on the west side of the state and the more rural, eventually swampy shores of the east. Zuko only had the vaguest idea of what roads he was taking, but his sense of direction had always been relatively good, and he knew if he just traveled west long enough, he’d be able to get them home. There was a certain thrilling freedom in driving around and getting lost with no rush in reaching their destination.

_And the sun burns my skin  
But it’s outside and in, it’s burning  
Only you can soothe me  
Come cool me down_

They came around a sharp curve, and Zuko instinctively tapped his breaks as he thought he might’ve seen something moving in the distance. Sure enough, as they approached, a doe and two fawns (spots and all) slowly crossed the road ahead of them with trepidation.

“Aw, babies,” Azula mumbled under her breath.

Zuko drove until they reached a crossing of two major county roads, then made a right, signaling the end of their meandering as they began heading toward home. A railroad crossing ahead of them turned red, and the gates came down as a seemingly miles-long series of oil-tanks crossing in front of them.

“So,” Zuko ventured, the blinking red lights half-illuminating him in the cab. “Do you wanna talk about what happened?”

Azula sighed and reached down for her water. “Not really,” she murmured, looking straight ahead at the endless train.

“I know I overreacted. I _know_ that.” This was the soberest Azula sounded all night. “I just…” she sighed again. “I’m tired of being treated like a secret like she’s _ashamed_ of…being with me.”

Zuko wanted to say something but kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want to scare her; this was already the most she’d opened up to him in months.

As the train ended, the gates lifted; Zuko drove forward. Azula grabbed her bag off the floor and pulled out her cigarettes and lighter again. In his peripheral vision, he could see the serious expression on her face as she stared ahead of them.

_I am lost  
So I am cruel  
But I’d be love and sweetness  
If I had you  
I’m waiting, I’m waiting for you_

The trees began to thin out as their surroundings became more suburban. They pass farmland broken up sporadically by clusters of houses and businesses.

“I know it’s not her fault. I know her family are weird and religious and will absolutely flip their shit on her if they know she’s into girls. I _know_ that.” She took a long drag, held it in for a minute, and then blew it forcefully out of the window. More farmland, more houses, a huge autobody lot filled with semitrailers.

They were stopped by a red light at a five-point intersection. Azula huffed out a bitter little laugh.

“How does she do it? How does she fool around with me in private or around you guys but then goes back to pretending we’re just casual friends around everyone else?” She tossed her cigarette butt out of the window. The light turned green. They drove on, passing a Catholic shrine lit up in the darkness, a strange piece of sharp, brutalist concrete punctuating the otherwise bucolic scenery.

“Has she told you how she feels about you?” Zuko asked softly.

“Yeah.” It sounds defensive. “I tell myself she l—she cares about me all the time. But I still can’t do it. I can’t switch signals like that. It’s like fucking whiplash.”

_Love, love is a verb  
Love is a doing word  
Fearless on my breath  
Gentle impulsion  
Shakes me, makes me lighter  
Fearless on my breath  
Teardrop on the fire  
Fearless on my breath_

They were almost home. They passed more farmland and an abandoned factory, then Zuko flicked his blinker on to turn toward Uncle Iroh’s neighborhood.

“Can I tell you what I think?” Zuko asked.

“Yeah, sure.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way ‘Zula, but you’re both still in high school. Ty Lee told me she asked you to give her a year. So, why not try that?”

Azula said nothing. They were on Uncle’s street now.

“But in the meantime,” Zuko continued, voice even softer, “set some boundaries. Tell her what you told me: that it hurts you to act like a couple one minute, just friends the next. Be honest with her.”

They pulled into the driveway, gravel crunching under their tires. The automatic light over the garage turned on.

“You know, Ty Lee told me you could call her tomorrow if you want.”

Azula finally looked at her brother. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he offered her a gentle smile as he leaned back in his seat. “You should let me know how it goes.”

She scoffed at him as she pulled out her house keys.

“OK, sure…thanks for the ride,” she made eye contact with him and smiled before climbing out.

“No problem.”

Zuko waited in the driveway until Azula was safely back in the house. He pulled out of the drive and began the long trek back to town when he glanced at the clock. It was nearing 4. He groaned miserably.

He would definitely be needing Mai’s espresso in the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> 1If you would like to listen to Mai's "For Z" playlist, it can be found [here](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLn7qQtNQHy2BFoxxg_8il6dOKzSTV88HG).[return]
> 
> As always comments are appreciated. If you would like to hang out with me on Tumblr, I can be found [here](https://korvidaee.tumblr.com/).
> 
> (Edited 21 January 2021)


End file.
